Pocket Full of Posies
by binx-349
Summary: It isalways these cases that get to all of us. She just seems to deal with it worse than most. [GSR]


Pocket Full of Posies - 

Spoilers: Mea Culpa.

Rating: Pg-13/R for a bad word.

Summary: Response to the GeekFiction challenge. GSR

A/N: This was going to be just a little challenge entry, I got carried away and it grew into this monster. That word limit went totally out the window, Sorry.

No beta because I just cranked this out tonight. I don't doubt there are mistakes galore. Mucho thanks go to Leslie for the title.

I'm not sure why it was us there this evening, pure coincidence I suppose. I was shorthanded. I needed someone to help, and she was there. She wanted to work. I will never understand her motivations like that. It certainly isn't the way I think.

Things have been tense for a few weeks now. Grissom's obvious blind-spot when it comes to her has led to more problems than I ever thought it could. He risked everything for her job, although I very much doubt she knows that. He would never have told her. If she slips up, it isn't just her job on the line, it's his too. I can see why he would keep quiet. It's a huge show of trust. Trust that is misplaced in my opinion. She's a nice girl - I would once have called her a friend even; but she's not on top form anymore, hasn't been for quite some while. Now is not a good time to put that much faith into her actions.

The car ride to the scene was so quiet I swear I could have heard her gentle breathing, had I felt the need to listen. I take the odd furtive glance in her direction, half keeping my eyes on the road. I know the area pretty well by now, so my concentration on the route is not entirely necessary. I know it back to front and upside down anyway.

She was obviously agitated, tapping her fingers relentlessly on the armrest. She was fidgeting like nothing on earth. I suppose I should have picked up on her discomfort then, but I was desperately trying to avoid confronting the obvious, and turned on the radio. Ignore the elephant in the car and you never knew; it might just go away.

Every bump in the road seems to be magnified so that I could imagine every stone I drive over. Each jarring movement breaks my concentration; brings me back to the here and now. It's not somewhere I want to be. The alienation of being boss is getting to me. I'm treated differently by people who used to be my friends and it's not something I like. There is nothing allusive about that. I feel like I've been alienated by even the ones who don't work for me, Sara, Greg.

We could hardly miss the house. The blue lights of police vehicles illuminated the whole section of road with a blue glow that bounced off nearby windows expounding the muted color which tinged everything. You would almost forget that it was night with the amount of lights round here.

It wasn't often that you arrived to a scene where there was this number of police vehicles in attendance. We try to discourage this, but in big cases there isn't much we can do. I can see Sara bit her lip, probably imagining the contamination of the scene. It's the way her mind works. I think about that, rip into the odd officer who happens to tread in the wrong place, and move on. With her it's different, each wrong move means she might miss something, it stops being a calling, becomes an obsession. I can see the beginnings of that here already.

Vartaan is standing on the front lawn, watching us as we draw up. Sara pulls on the door handle, jumping out before I have even parked the car. It's going to be one of those days, the ones you can see coming a mile off.

She stops once she is out of the car, simple courtesy causing her to wait. She reaches the tape holding it up while I duck beneath it. The determination in her strides mean I have to jog a little to catch up with her after acknowledging Vartaan and ascertaining that the scene was cleared. The body is upstairs, and every step leaves me feeling more and more that I am walking into something I would rather not see. I feel like this a lot of the time although I would never voice this feeling to anyone; to be a woman in this profession you have to be tougher than the men. You get the stick and have to be able to prove yourself worthy, resilient enough to handle anything. I often think that maybe I should have done something else. Woken up one day and said: "I want to work in a shoe shop then!" It would have made things so much easier in many ways.

Sara is holding her breath. We enter the room, hugging the walls, we know exactly what it is we're going to find. The coppery odor that fills the air is suffocating. It's like dust, it gets into your lungs and seems reluctant to dissipate. The scene presented to us shows such a contrast; the innocence of a child's room and the violation of that precious innocence that mars it. It's bad enough that even I feel slightly ill.

I can see her turn her head a little avoiding looking at her directly, she's not delicate by any means, but who likes to look at a scene like this. Cases with children get to all of us. The spark of memory that filters through her eyes speaks of something a little more than most.

She seems transfixed on a point beyond me, not moving at all. Eyes riveted to the floor. "I used to like goofy." She smiles wanly and turns back towards the body, crouching a little closer while deftly pulling on her gloves. I look behind me. The pile of toys lying haphazardly on the carpet hadn't caught my eye. I guess it's what comes of having a child, you get used to this kind of paraphernalia all over the house. I step over other items eyeing a grotesque jack-in-the-box and wondering what possessed someone to buy that for their child. "-and we all fall down" I mutter picking up another toy, blood matted into the fur. The grotesque origins of that game always make me wonder why it became a harmless game for so many children. I shiver, put the white bear down again and start taking photos of the area.

We process the room in silence, circling the perimeter and selecting items that might yield any kind of information. I print door handles, window ledges even her bedstead. Sara deftly bags hairbrushes, and plucks fibers from her bed. Neither of us has touched the seven year old victim yet. Eventually we will have to. David has taken liver temp and authorized it. We have no reason not to process the body.

Sara is getting out her ALS when Grissom arrives on the scene. It's a big case and supervisors are all hands on. I feel like it undermines my authority, but really there isn't anything I can do about it, except complain, and that didn't help a whole lot last time. I think there might be other reasons he is here anyway. His eyes are drawn to Sara first, flicking back to me for only a second and back to her again. Her tense state is obvious in her posture and the rigidity with which she grips the torch.

She sways the beam over the sheets. I only have to watch her face to know what she finds. I could never misinterpret the thunder that crosses her face. I'm certainly anything but clueless. Even Grissom can see this coming. His hand snakes out to apply pressure in the small of her back, an attempt either to guide her away, or as support, reassurance; which I am not entirely sure. I think he likes to be near her at times like this, it gives him an excuse to touch her without suspicion. He murmurs something into her ear. Her response is far from positive.

She lashes out batting his hand away, deflecting him as she moves. She doesn't speak, but her actions do all that for her. As she walks out of the room I can see that I will be forced to call in the boys. Grissom won't let her stay here and keep processing after that. He knows something. It makes him overprotective of her. He goes up to bat for her when he wouldn't do for anyone else. He may be naive, but he does know that she needs to be out of here. He follows her moments later glancing only briefly at me, in a gesture that I suspect means, keep working. I pull out my cell and speed-dial Warrick, I think I need him.

Getting back to the lab seems to take me forever. I didn't stay too long after they left. It was overtime for me after all. I left Nick and Warrick in charge, they seemed happy enough to deal with the media. There is something that we are all missing with Sara and Grissom. They looked a little surprised to hear they had left. We really know nothing about them and no one cares. I guess we figure it's their problem. They both keep themselves to themselves, they're insular, and we can't do anything about that. This whole day has proved itself an insight into their relationship, something none of us have seen before. It's always been strictly professional around us. This signifies and expansion, it is spilling over, something Grissom normally explicitly vows against.

I walk down the corridor, and am drawn by their voices. It's a raised whisper, nothing invasive, but I am drawn nonetheless, curiosity killed the Cat I suppose. I slow up considerably keeping my head buried in a report should one of them look up. They are way to intent on each other to notice anyone else. Sara is pacing back and forth, a repetitive motion that I suppose must bring some kind of comfort to her. Grissom remains still his head quirked to one side watching her before interrupting her barely restrained tirade.

"-Sara, don't do this." He goes for soothing and it just comes out depreciating. He sounds tired, she is stubborn and I'm not sure I would do any better at this.

"Don't- just don't. You have no idea what I'm thinking, so stop trying to analyze me." She's angry; her hissed statement is bound to have hurt him. Not that in some ways he doesn't completely deserve it.

He is silent for a moment, probably scrambling to find the right something to say, something that that might soothe her. I doubt his ability in that department. Saying the right thing at the right time is not easy for him, never has been.

"I don't want to see you hurt." He has stopped whispering. I can hear the sincerity in his tone from here. He comes across far better when he stops trying to hide things. Such a blunt admission from him is rare, but the best way for him to go.

"Well, you're a bit fucking late for that." The bitterness in her tone surprises even me. She darts her gaze around the room, avoiding his face. She slumps back against the counter, her eyes dropping to the floor. Taking a deep breath she appears to calm herself a little.

Gil has always been useless in these situations; to reach out to others has always been totally alien to him. It is against his nature. When what people need is human comfort, he goes for clinical distance, words without the actions to match. I have learnt to accept this; Sara has obviously always craved more than that. I don't think he could ever let go that much. He needs to be able to control things, her he can't regulate.

He puts a hand under her chin guiding her to look up at him. A lingering moment passes before he moves it away so fast, as if her skin had burnt him. Her eyes are moist however they don't leave his face. He is so close to her I wouldn't be surprised to find he was pinning her to the cupboard. Her fingers trace down his chin, brushing his face tenderly. I can't see his expression, but I would be willing to bet he looks as surprised as she does.

I feel like a voyeur, despite everything, to view such an intensely personal gesture. I'm surprised, and quite sure that neither of them has taken the glass walls of the lab into account. Despite the fact it is quiet, there are still people around. People will talk, and like Chinese whispers, the lies and the truth get bent so out of shape that no one knows what is real and what is distortion anymore. It was another game I used to like as a child. Now it strikes me as dangerous. Lies and death is what I live now.

Watching this scene is making even me uncomfortable. I'm half tempted to stay. I would like to see some kind of resolution. I watch them for a couple more moments, before dragging myself back to the present. I should be getting back to Lindsey. She will be getting up in the next hour. I want to be there some of the time at least. Swing shift is not much better than graveyard in that respect. I don't work on the same cycle as her, even now.

I'm sure we will see something of this encounter reflected in their actions next shift. It will either be excruciating discomfort, or a complex understanding. I don't need a call to Ms Cleo to tell me how this will turn out. I realize it's probably more intricate than just that. There is something in their past - possibly in their present for that matter; that keeps this situation ticking along. At regular intervals we get a minor blip in the non-relationship, and then all goes back to normal for another month or so. It's just the way it works with them.

I hear Ecklie's voice down the hall, and before I know what I'm doing I drop my report, scattering the papers across the ground and cursing loudly. I even lost my post its, that wasn't supposed to happen. I'm going to have to spend ages sorting this lot out, another reason the get rid of that man, along with my hashed promotion and his inability to speak civilly to anyone unless it will aid his quest for power. Keeping my eyes down, I scramble to pick everything up once more. I pretend that I didn't see anything. I don't expect them to believe I didn't notice, but it will help to keep some level of comfort in our professional relationship if I at least try to feign ignorance.

I don't look at them, and march on down the corridor, hoping I have driven home the total lack of the privacy that they had counted on. I may not think it's a good idea for either of them, but I still don't want the higher powers to hear about anything that could result in a reprimand. I am loyal to my friends, whatever people may say. I can't wait to see the fireworks that will come from this. I think we may be in for a fascinating couple of weeks. I hope it works out. Drama is all well and good, but happy endings are always better.


End file.
